The Mansion Incident
by flawlessphoenix
Summary: The S.T.A.R.S Alpha team has gone missing during their operation. Their disappearance prompted Beta team to retrace the steps of where Alpha was originally headed to investigate, the outskirts of Beacon Hills. Things quickly take a turn for the worst and Beta team, in their mission to rescue Alpha team, are in desperate need of rescuing for themselves. Resident Evil AU. Slash.
1. Nothing could have prepared us for this

A/N: So here's my take on Resident Evil (the game series)...I kinda (extremely) nervous about this project. I'm really excited to be doing it though. The Resident Evil series has long been a favorite of mine for as long as I can remember and I had to see if I could manage incorporating my own twist on the franchise with my current Teen Wolf obsession. So far I'm pleased with what I've done and I promise I'll keep up with this because it's been a great distraction for me. I already have it outlined to the end rest assured.

I am completely open to constructive criticism, I just hope I'm able to capture the atmospheric tension of the game. I know I won't be able to do it complete justice but hopefully enough that it is an engaging, enjoyable read.

The only characters I can confirm a comparison to: Stiles = Rebecca Chambers. Derek = Billy Coen. Anything else would be massive spoilers for down the line.

For fans of the series, you'll be able to tell certain things coming. But I did change things up to fit the story.

There won't be as many different kinds of monsters as the game.

The mansion isn't a replica of the game's version.

It's combination/mashup of RE 1 and RE 0.

Tags will be added as the story progresses.

And I changed Bravo team to Beta team, which will make sense later on. (end)

The Beacon County Sheriff Department helicopter arrived safely to the last known location of the Special Tactics and Rescue Service's Alpha team with the pale light of the full moon beaming down on the dense forest. Officer Stilinski was the first to hop out of the transport before the helicopter had even touched the ground when he saw the motivation for his premature exit. The isolated helicopter left behind by team Alpha was currently being picked apart by the young officer. The rest of his squad made their way to his position after waiting to set down the copter firmly on ground near Alpha team's flying vehicle.

The acting leader of Beta team, Deputy Jordan Parrish, came behind Stilinski, still searching through the evidence left behind by its previous occupants. "Stiliniski," he called out firmly to his subordinate causing the young man to turn around to his superior. "You may be a new recruit, but I expect better from the sheriff's son."

"Sorry, sir. But…"

"No 'buts', Stilinski. You're under my command. And you move when I say you move. Is that clear?" Parrish's tone was firm but fair.

"I understand, sir. But Scott…"

"Did I make myself clear?"

Officer Stilinski sighed, "Yes, sir. I move when you say I move."

"Good. Now let's find our friends," winking to the young officer, dropping his stern professional demeanor. "Find anything yet?"

"No, sir. Nothing." Stiles reported with worry and frustration in his voice.

"Don't worry. It could be the poor reception here."

"But what about their sat phone?"

"Could've been damaged," Parrish countered. "Stiles," using his first name in a soothing tone while placing a gentle grip on his upper arm. "Don't get yourself worked up thinking the worst."

"I can't help it, Jordan. I can't let anything bad happen to him. I should have had his back. We should have been together like always. Him having my back and me having his. Then…" his anxiety-fueled ramble was stopped when Jordan interrupted.

"Then you would've been missing too and who would be part of the search effort to find him? God forbid you'd have to rely on Greenburg for help."

Stiles smiled thinking of Greenburg being his source of salvation after the stunts he pulled on his colleague. He felt mildly better from Parrish's words and wasn't surprised how well the team leader worked in a stressful situation. It was clear to him why Parrish was a shoo-in to take his father's position when the not-so old man eventually retires. "Right. Let's do what we came to do," Stiles announced, feeling his resolve recovered and strengthened.

Unfortunately, the cockpit left no clues to the whereabouts of the missing team with further examination, only the GPS was found that led them to their current position. The only plan they had was to retrace the steps to where Alpha team was originally heading to investigate.

A missing persons report of Jackson Whittemore; the mayor's, David Whittemore, only son prompted the search to investigate the mountain area surrounding the Beacon Hills Preserve. Last seen by his girlfriend, Lydia Martin, who claimed to have last seen him heading off for a solo camping trip in the area a couple of weeks ago. The Hale Estate was an intended destination the missing person wanted to explore. Jackson wasn't the first person to go missing in the preserve but the influence of the mayor finally granted the S.T.A.R.S division full support to investigate the bizarrely high rates of missing person reports in the area over the past year.

"Since there is nothing here to give us new intel, we are going to stick with the plan and head to the Hale mansion that was being surveyed for possible leads." Parrish instructed his group – Beta team; along with Stilinski included Vernon Boyd, Erica Reyes, and Isaac Lahey (the young pilot was stationed on board). He took his compass to find the direction of the estate, knowing it was in the east of where they landed.

Officer Reyes scoffed at the sight, "Jordan, we have state of the art equipment at our disposal and you're using a compass?"

"Don't knock the old school method. Technology is great…until it doesn't work. It's best to have reliable gadgets like this that don't require electricity and satellites. Remember they had the best equipment too, Erica, and we haven't heard a word from them yet."

Parrish led the way to the direction of the Hale mansion with his team members in tow, fixed in a state of alert and preparedness radio. Weapons locked and loaded, eyes scanning the dark environment, radio powered on if an emergency beacon is within range, and flashlights illuminating their path. The whistling wind and rustling trees were the only sounds coming from the forest as they delved deeper.

The soft soundtrack made it easy to hear approaching growls but difficult to detect in which direction they emitted from. The four members stood close by as the threatening noise began, each taking a point in sight where the other's vision ended to ensure they wouldn't be blindsided. "Anyone have a sight?" Parrish asked.

A series of 'No, sir' were answered by each of the squad's unit as the animal noises seemed to be getting louder. The darkness made it hard, nearly impossible, to find a threat by eyesight and the growling sounds bouncing around the tress became heavy obstacles to overcome, but the Betas were well trained. "Night goggles, team. Flashlights off," their leader commanded to combat their disorientation caused by the night.

With their vision enhanced, the source of their raised weapons was clearly seen. "Sir, I've got a large animal in my line of sight," Boyd reported. "I have two on my side, sir," Reyes announced after. "Two here, also," Stiles informed, "looks like wolves and they're just standing there."

"No sudden movements. We won't be able to make it back to helicopter at this point. How far are we from the Hale estate, Boyd?" Jordan quietly questioned, the only one without any wolves in his field of vision.

"Within running distance, sir. We should be able to make it."

"Okay, good. Let's try not to get on their bad side," Jordan tries to joke about the snarling wild animals around them. "Not much to do but to move slowly and silently for as long as we can. Then break out into a full speed run if they come at us. Follow my lead." The team moved as one in the direction of the mansion at a slow pace that appeared to not perturb the beasts further, focusing their aim on the targets as they did so.

"FYI, Jordan. Wolves are known to run up to 35 miles per hour. So I hope you guys have fast legs." Stiles couldn't help to notify as he kept up with his comrades.

"Just another one of your random facts, Stilinski?" Jordan smiled to himself despite the situation. The smile was short-lived and a response from Stiles died on his tongue as the sound of whirling blades emerged. "What the hell is Isaac doing?" vocalizing the thought on everyone's mind. The loud engine and bright search lights aggravated the barely stationary creatures. Now the growling became fierce snarls as the wolves bared their teeth and began to move towards the group. "Time to haul ass, people!" Jordan directs after he takes his attention from the helicopter flying away overhead into the distance.

Everyone races forward as fast as they can, the memory of Stiles' words about a wolf's speed nipping at the back of each of their minds. Progressing through the tall trees was going well enough until Reyes yelled out. "Help!" with gunshots following immediately after. The remaining squad turned to witness Erica's leg gnawed on by a wolf. Now that they could see the animal closer, the rotting skin and exposed flesh were visible on the wolf as were the bullet holes from Erica's gun. Three shots had passed through the body from her earlier shots and it still continued to bite, unfazed completely.

Jordan placed a well aimed shot into the dome of the creature sending it to the ground with a satisfying thud. The victory was short-lived as more descended upon Beta team with the squad members quickly firing at the enraged animals. Stiles rushed to the aid of Reyes while the other two unharmed men did their best to fend off the threats endangering their lives. Stiles had Erica's arm over his shoulder and his own arm clutched around her waist as the two moved toward the illuminated mansion, now visible in the distance like a lighthouse guiding their way out of the crap storm raining down on them.

Erica kept her gun steady shooting numerous additional wolves that descended upon them making sure she wasn't a burden to her friends. The squad tried its best to keep the wolves at bay but it was difficult with the limited range of the night goggles and the rapid speed the horrific looking animals charging for them.

But with luck, skill, and teamwork they managed to find safety after bypassing the unlocked mansion doors.


	2. The door to safety is shut

"Can someone tell me what the hell that was? Those wolves…they were everywhere…their skin…" Boyd let out in panted breaths, not expecting an answer to his rhetorical question, as he took off the night vision goggles (as did everyone else). His back leaned heavily against the door that protected them from their assailants.

"At least this place seems to be in working order." Jordan observed the place was decently lit from the luminous chandelier above to the soft sconces on the wall.

"Erica, how are you doing?" Stiles asked after he carefully set her down on the steps of the grand stairwell in the elegantly designed main entrance of the mansion they were residing in.

"Nothing a few martinis won't fix." She replied back with a clenched jaw. As Stiles inspected Erica's wound, he thought to himself 'more like a few dozen martinis'. Although the gaping wound was bad, it didn't look crippling. Some limping was guaranteed but she would be able to hold her own.

"Sorry but all I have is some green herb. And I'm not gonna lie, it'll hurt," giving Erica an honest warning.

"Not more than the four legged bastard who used my leg as a chew toy, right?"

"No, but prepare yourself." Stiles warned once more. Boyd stood up after hearing the dialogue between them and went to Erica's side for support. Erica told Stiles to go through with the application of the ointment, made from the medicinal properties of the green herb plant. She squeezed the hand given to her by Boyd to cope through the pain, while also writhing slightly and grunting as she waited for the gel to finish its process as a temporary healing treatment – sterilizing and sealing the wound until real medical service could be received. "You did great, Erica." Stiles offered as he dressed the area with guaze in case of future bleeding, Boyd patted her shoulder signaling the same sentiment.

"I better be able to still look good in my bikini. I plan on a long weekend at the beach with a pitcher of margaritas after this shit is over."

"Scar or not, Reyes, you'll still be the best view there." Boyd said sincerely with a smile.

"Okay, you're definitely invited with drinks on me."

Jordan decided now that Reyes was alright that he would inform the team of recent developments. "Glad you're doing well, Reyes. I hate to say this...got some bad news, people."

"Worse than the creature feature we're all starring in." Stiles quipped.

"Yeah. I can't seem to contact Isaac or any outside help. I turned the emergency beacon on but it doesn't look like anyone can hear it. But the good news is that could be the main reason we haven't heard from Alpha team." He glanced briefly at Stiles knowing it might relieve him knowing his best friend had a higher chance of survival.

"I just hope they were lucky enough not to get as well acquainted with the welcome wagon like we did." Erica injected as Stiles visibly winced at the thought, with Jordan noticing.

"We made it, so it's likely they did as well, especially with Finstock there leading them," trying to bring back Stiles' look of hope with success. The Alpha team leader was a major force to be reckoned with and sure to do everything in his power to protect his team. "Our new priority, besides finding Alpha team, is finding a line of communication. We can't do much for our friends when we find them if we can't get them home."

"Why do you think Isaac bolted in the first place?" Boyd questioned.

"Must've been the same reason we ran here. Wolves could've attacked the chopper." Erica supplied, doubling as a fine example of her statement.

"This place is huge." From their position they could see the sprawling balcony of the second floor and on both sides led to two doors. On the ground floor a door on each side sat across from each other. "We'll need to split into pairs to cover as much ground as possible safely."

"How will we stay in contact?" Erica wondered aloud.

"Good old fashioned paper and pen. Leave any progress written down and left on the end table by the banister here after searching each wing. Stiles and I will start on the west wing and you two rest up. If we're not back in 30 minutes, begin on the east and come back with any developments then work your way up. Stay safe," were his parting words as he Stiles ventured into the only door on the left.


	3. Look out! It's a monster!

A large rectangular table centered the room stretching from both ends of the space and was big enough to seat 30 or more people. The lit fireplace at the far end opposite of where the two entered was the only source of light, drawing them deeper into the room.

"So, on a scale of Kardashians to Real Housewives, how bad is this situation?" Stiles asks Jordan to fill the air with noise other than tree branches tapping on the window and crackling of fire.

"What the hell kind of scale is that, Stiles? They're both terrible." He receives a solitary brow raise and smirk from his partner. "Ah, I get it," chuckling at his embarrassment.

"Just don't tell my dad that joke. Sadly, both are his guilty pleasures. But it's better than the junk food he used to store in his drawer at work." Commenting as they moved through the extravagant dining room connected to the main entrance. A pool of blood was found in front of the roasting fireplace halting the ensuing question from Stiles of who started the fire.

Jordan ducked down by the large amount of blood to inspect it. "Looks pretty recent. Doesn't look too life threatening though." He notices a trail of blood splatter leading to a door on the wall adjacent to the fireplace. "Let's see where the blood leads."

The feeling of dread clung to Stiles thinking it could possibly be from Scott. Jordan stood in front of the mahogany door ready with his handgun aimed as Stiles stood to the side with his weapon unholstered and a hand on the knob. With Jordan's command, the door was flung open and Jordan was the first to be greeted with unnatural, glowing blue eyes from Alpha team member, Joseph Greenburg.

He lowered his gun slightly when he recognized the formerly lost officer, but didn't completely relinquish his weapon ready stance. Greenburg's face was framed with hair covering his sides and growing past his normal hairline. Ridges were protruding at his brows giving him a caveman appearance. His fingernails had extended to lethally sharp lengths and ears pointed behind the mess of hair. "Greenburg?" Questioning the vision before him.

Once his neon blue, vacant eyes recognized a man in front of him, a full set of teeth that resembled wolves, pointed and sharp, emerged from the open mouth. A hostile noise was brought forth from deep within Greenburg after he bared his predatory teeth. Faster than Jordan could react, given the unbelievable sight standing a few feet away, Greenburg lunged into the air and knocked him to the floor. The action knocked his gun out of hand and his only barrier from the snapping bites of the Alpha member was the strong hold Jordan had on the feral officer's biceps. Jordan used all of his might to keep the threat at bay but could feel his grasp slipping on one side. The former ally was strong, stronger than Parrish ever remembered.

Stiles looked at the events unfolding before him with complete disbelief. This wasn't a horror movie or video game. They were officers sent to search and rescue. Things like this didn't happen and werewolf-looking creatures didn't exist. But that was exactly the situation (more like the nightmare) they were forced in. And Stiles knew if he didn't get over his state of shock, Jordan would suffer for his lack of action.

After storing his weapon back, he quickly grabbed the shoulder of the snarling creature (Stiles remembered as whining whenever someone would eat his yogurt stash) to hurl with all of his might in the direction of the open door. The exertion Stiles applied accomplished his goal but also sent him falling sideways to the floor. The throw did nothing to snap Greenburg out of his crazed, violent state or stop him in his apparent desire for human flesh.

The wild young man bounced up nearly as fast as he went down and in a fit of frustration threw his head back and howled. Stiles swiftly scrambled on his hands and feet toward the door to block another attack heading toward them. The door was pushed closed by Stiles unsuccessfully when a sharp clawed hand caused the door to remain slightly ajar. Jordan made his way to Stiles in an attempt to seal the passage to the two men. Parrish was barely able to put his hands on the door panel when the only protection dividing them from the monster was slammed open knocking both men back on their asses.

Greenburg stood in a stance of victory seeing both of his meals in front of him; his head turned from side to side trying to decide which to partake first. It looked like Stiles had the monster's interest, maybe wanting payback for interrupting him in the first place.

"Stiles, shoot him!"

Stiles didn't forget his weapon was still on his person but couldn't bring himself to shoot the man he and Scott had pulled so many pranks on at the academy. Or at least what was left of the guy with a crazy amount of yogurts hogging space in the headquarters' refrigerator. What if Greenburg was still in there? What if this state he's in wears off and goes right back to yelling at him for 'borrowing' a blueberry flavored treat?

"Greenburg! Stop! It's me…Stilinski." He tried reasoning with him. The monster stopped in his tracks, assessing Stiles with a head tilt, and Stiles blew a breath of relief at getting through to his friend. However, the triumph was short-lived as Greenburg continued to close the short distance on him.

"Stiles!" Jordan tried to move to the endangered officer but had difficulty doing so from the pain pooling in his shoulder. Drool dripped out of Greenburg's open mouth and Stiles tried to prepare himself for another assault by raising his hands in defense ready to hold off a Stiles-buffet. From his position on the ground with the monster crowding over him and his focus on the imminent attack, Stiles flinched back when a surprise strike was met against the side of Greenburg's head. The heavy blow sent him past Jordan, now standing, in front of the fireplace where the puddle of blood laid. Stiles had followed the trajectory of the body and turned his sight back to the cause of the limp beast after it landed.

"Coach." Stiles breathed out in surprise and relief. Bobby Finstock, his former trainer and the leader of Alpha team, stood before him with an arm stretched out to him and a metal object in the other.

"You plan on sitting there all day, princess, and wait for me to get your tiara back?" Finstock smirked, still as charming as ever.

Jordan took the opportunity to crouch near the dinner table to crawl underneath and retrieve his pistol he was separated from during the attack. As he reached out to grab his weapon, he grunted in pain and aborted the motion. Stiles, still seated on the floor, noticed and took it upon himself to help Jordan out by handing his service weapon back. "Thanks, Stiles. I was starting to feel naked without it." He said as he holstered the pistol to grab hold of his shoulder.

"Now you're making me regret giving it back to you, I could've used the pleasing distraction." Stiles hovered a concerned hand over the shoulder being clutched by the Beta team leader who looked pretty red in the face, from the attack he told himself. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I hit the table pretty hard when I was knocked back...the first time." He rotated his arm a little to judge the damage. "Feels mostly sore now, probably just bruised."

"If you need it I still have some green herb left, it should help ease the pain." Stiles offered.

"Nah, save it just in case. This night is becoming less and less of a standard rescue operation." A loud moan came from behind the two crouched on the floor causing them to turn their heads.

Greenburg rose a few feet from Parrish and shook his blood soaked head. "Dammit, Greenburg. Even in death you're a pain in the ass." Finstock muttered moving around the pair kneeling on the floor to the recovering menace. He charged his arm for another hit with the fireplace poker in hands and directed all his strength to striking the center of Greenburg's forehead. The result of the powerful blow sent bits of brain matter on the window behind the target. Finstock kept his grip on the poker and pulled the stiff standing body into the open flame as an extra countermeasure where the rabid officer began to burn intensely. Finstock left the sickening view to stretch out both arms to help up both of the dumbstruck officers, Stiles becoming completely motionless as he stared at the burning body.

"Rest in peace...Joseph." Finstock's sorrow filled words were only accompanied by the roaring fire eating away at the lost teammate.

After a long moment of silent respect was behind them, quite literally - turning their backs to the fireplace, Stiles asks the question that has been plaguing him since Alpha team missed their check-in roughly 12 hours ago. "Coach, is Scott...tell me he's alright. Please." His eyes honed in on Finstock to read any signs of his best friend's condition.

"Yeah, McCall is in the room across the hall. C'mon, I'll take you there." He moved to lead them out the open door that once housed their fallen comrade. Stiles' eyes closed in relief that his best friend didn't share the same fate as Greenburg.

"Told you he was safe in Finstock's sweaty palms." Jordan whispered close to Stiles' ear and placed a comforting hand on the small of his back as they exit the dining room.


	4. That sounded like Moonlight Sonata

When Finstock led the two Beta members into the room Scott was stationed, Stiles looked around anticipating his friend but only saw the room contained a full bar to the right, a piano in the far right, a long row of bookshelves against the wall and in the middle of the bar and piano sat some small tables joined with two chairs on each. But no sign of his childhood buddy.

"Coach...no one is here," Stiles stated with confusion and disappointment in his voice.

"How well do either of you know the song Moonlight Sonata? Go on and play it." Finstock insisted even though no one had confirmed whether they knew or not.

"Are you kidding me right now? Even if I could sit still long enough learn to play the piano, what makes you think I would want to play when my best friend has gone missing. Again apparently." Annoyance leaking heavily in his tone as threw is arms up in exasperation.

"Sir, I agree. With all due respect, does it really seem a good time to...tickle the ivories." Jordan says but Finstock ignores their comments and goes in front of the piano. Stiles tried firing questions at the Alpha leader but was quickly shushed by him so he could concentrate.

"Dude has straight lost it. Fucking rabid wolves and crazy ass monsters and he's playing goddamn tunes on the piano." Stiles murmurs to Jordan, standing at his side, as Finstock plays Moonlight Sonata with a surprising level of finesse and ease that no one would the loud, brash Alpha leader was capable of.

In the middle of the performance a loud click ends the piano piece and removes the pianist from his perched position on the bench. "Try having a bit of faith in me, kiddies." Smirking at them before walking to the high standing bookshelf wall in front of the musical instrument. "Open sesame." He says through gritted teeth as he pulls the shelf open, apparently doubling as a door.

"Whoa," Stiles breathes out when a midsized medical room comes into view. The room is designed like a cozy doctor's office with various medical supplies stacked against the walls. He steps inside the small infirmary with his mouth agape, Parrish following behind closely, to find Scott lying down on a cot in a corner of the room. "Scott! Buddy!" He exclaims as he drops to his side. Scott doesn't so much as breath differently under the gentle shaking Stiles inflicts upon the unconscious officer. "What's wrong with him? Why isn't he waking up?" He demands of Finstock, who has just closed the heavy door that resembles a metallic safe on this side of it to join the crowd around Scott.

"I had to sedate him to help control his fever and his other...symptoms." Finstock explains.

"Symptoms?"

"When we first came through he was bit by..."

"Wolves," Jordan finished knowingly and continued, "Yeah, they rolled out the same welcome mat for us too."

"Are the other members okay?" Finstock asked in rushed urgency and concern.

"Yes, sir. My team made it here intact."

"Good. Glad to hear. Anyway, McCall seemed fine at first but then he kept telling us how hot he felt and how itchy his skin felt. We found this safe spot just in time. He began to thrash around violently and we had to sedate him to keep McCall from hurting himself."

Stiles looked down at Scott feeling that guilt creep in again.

"After he went under, Deaton examined him and found black veins sprouting from his wound. He started a round of antibiotics since we hunkered down here that seems to be working. The fever broke, his breathing evened out, and the veins have disappeared. But strangely enough, so did the wound...it was completely gone. He's due for a round of antibiotics in about 15 minutes. Now we're just waiting on 'Sleeping Beauty' here to wake and see if he's alright."

"He has to be okay. He is okay. Scott, hang on buddy. I'm here now. Just like I should've been." Stiles said quietly to his friend but the close proximity made it easy for the others to hear.

"Sir, one of our team, Officer Reyes was bit too. But Stilinski gave her a green herb treatment; it appeared to work fine for her."

"Parrish, we did the same for Scott..." letting his words skin in, and finally giving Stiles a reason to turn away from his recovering friend.

"We need to get them before they leave!" Stiles rushed out. "How long did the symptoms take to manifest?"

"An hour at least. And it was just a minor scrap." Finstock supplies. "How bad was Reyes' wound?"

Jordan and Stiles glance at each other in a grimace. "Bad."

"Come on, sir. If move fast we might catch them before they start their search. Stilinski, take care of McCall and stay here. No matter what. That's a direct order." Jordan issues, keeping an ingrained professional demeanor in front of Finstock.

Parrish and Finstock move to open the door but are stopped when Stiles blurts a quick plea for information. "Wait a sec. Where is Deaton?"

Finstock set a grim look on his face. "I'm not sure...he was supposed to be with Greenburg. I told them to resume checking for leads and communication. Before they left we heard what sounded like a scream, couldn't tell if was human or... That was the first time I had seen Greenburg since he left with the Doc." Finstock left his thoughts of Deaton's chance of survival unsaid, but they were all thinking the same morbid thought.

A/N: So here's where the mansion starts having a completely different floor plan/design. The medical bay room and the piano room have intertwined into one because I needed a legit safe room. If only a simple typewriter could make a room safe from any and all threats. Cheapest home security ever. There will definitely be more variations.


	5. Master of unlocking

"Good luck, guys."

"Stay safe, Stiles." Jordan imparted before heading out the large steel doors with Finstock closing it silently from the outside.

Stiles breathes out a silent wish for the safety of Erica and Boyd…and hopefully Deaton. Since he still has time to kill (maybe wrong choice of word considering the situation) before Scott's next dosage, Stiles takes the opportunity to inspect his surroundings. The first thing he notices is the manufacturer of all the medical supplies filling the room.

"Silver/Wolf Corporation," he reads aloud. "Hey, Scott. At least you're getting top-notch help. These guys supply our first aid at the station and equipment from the hospital."

The desk below the medicine cabinet on the wall beside Scott had a manila folder sitting innocently on top. Stiles retrieved it hoping to gain insight on the insanity happening around them. The contents revealed a photo of a young teenager, it was a mug shot.

"Derek Hale - dated five years ago," continuing his trend of an open dialogue, repeating the familiar last name. "Hale? Like the co-founder of Silver/Wolf Corporation, Peter Hale? Hm, you think they're related, Scott?" Still communicating with the slumbering officer.

A flip of the photo revealed more info in bullet format. "Escaped convict. Subject considered highly dangerous. Proceed with extreme caution. Capture alive by any means necessary." Stiles telegraphs to Scott. "As if we didn't have enough good luck tonight, we now have to be on the lookout for a special guest to join this cast of craziness."

He inspected the picture closer after flipping it back around. Derek Hale was handsome, objectively speaking of course. His dark features with green-ish eyes weren't what caused Stiles to stare down intensely at the face, though Stiles had to admit they are mesmerizing. An expression of sadness and inner turmoil is apparent on Derek Hale's face. "Could be because he was caught," voicing his thought to himself. "What did you do, Derek Hale?"

Knowing he wasn't going to get answers from a picture, Stiles turned his attention to his watch to check if it was time to inject Scott with the antibiotics. "Ready for a delicious dose of medicine, buddy?"

Stiles set the folder to its original place and moved toward his friend. The vial he needed was quickly found by the cot but there was no needle, the missing object caused him to inspect the drawers and surfaces in the medical office. When nothing was found, Stiles sighed and combed a hand over his buzzcut hair in frustration.

"Guess I can't ask you for help, huh," Stiles asked coma-induced friend. "Maybe it's in one these crates." He deduced as he scanned the boxes covered in thick plastic wrapping concealing its contents. Above the tall stacks of containers, Stiles' eyes caught the sticker label 'sterilized syringes' slapped on one of the crates. "Bingo."

There were no chairs or even a stepladder in sight to stand on and Stiles' attempt at stretching his long limbs didn't get him anywhere close to his goal. He pushed the first sturdy looking surface in reach and stepped carefully on top with one foot to test the structure. Satisfied with his experiment, Stiles stepped atop the box that elevated him closer to his objective but some stretching was still needed. Stiles could tell the sizeable container he sought has some heft to it for something only carrying empty syringes from the small lift he performed.

With his arms raised to their limit and his body extended by his toes, the lone officer attempted to nudge the box forward to make it easier to platform the box with his palms. The box was close enough now allowing him to inch it further by the bottom closer to him with his fingers, palms still out. The process was nearly complete, the box of syringes dangled over the edge ready to fall in Stiles' hands; suddenly the makeshift stool he tiptoed on became less sturdy and collapsed into itself causing Stiles to tumble down along with a handful of crates.

The noisy commotion of the accident made it impossible for the officer to hear the loud click of the door or be aware of the new presence in the room.

Stiles rolls over from his back to the wall opposite of the door, still unaware of the addition in the room, where most of the contents toppled to pick through the mild wreckage in a crouched position. "Be with you in a sec, buddy. You know me, can't go a whole day without making a mess on myself. If you were awake I bet you'd say 'I don't need to hear about your sex life, Stiles'," mimicking his friend's somewhat goofy tone. Luckily, the heavy packaging safe guarded the delicate needles from the klutzy officer's mistake.

Stiles turns around to see the back of an unfamiliar person that brings forth his police training and brotherly instinct to hover a hand over his holstered weapon. "Identify yourself and step away from him." Stiles asserts with authoritative force in his voice to the dark-haired man standing too close to Scott. His hand closes the distance to clutch his gun but finds nothing where it should be. Panic fills the young officer as he looks quickly to the empty holster and retrieves his stun gun in substitute, aiming it at the back of unidentified man. "I said step away!"

"Looking for this?" The man asks as he turns around and steps to the side, revealing Stiles' issued sidearm dangling innocently in his finger.

"How did you-?" Stiles doesn't bother to finish, his only concern is his and Scott's safety from the newfound threat. He fires at the unknown person standing close enough that the short range of the stun gun won't factor as a problem.

And it wouldn't have been a problem if the target in front of him hadn't moved with impressive swiftness to dodge the shot. The speed of the stranger was only matched by his strength that Stiles felt first hand as strong hands connected to bulging biceps grasped Stiles' open collar, pushing him against the wall of supplies behind. Stiles tried his best to remove the hands of the man invading his personal space. Breathing down on him, standing an inch or two taller over him. A pair of expressionless multi colored eyes, green being the most predominant one, bore into Stiles' own honey brown eyes.

Stiles had a near immediate recognition of those uniquely colored eyes as the ones in the picture, though the current ones had more fire behind them. "You're - you're Derek Hale, aren't you?" He grunted, able to breathe but constrained awkwardly and still fighting against tight pressure against his collarbone.

"So, you seem to know me...been fantasizing about me, have you?" The words made Stiles involuntarily lick his lips, with Stiles' action causing Derek Hale to track the movement briefly before locking eyes again. Derek smirks, in a knowingly way, after sniffing the air around Stiles.

 _'Did this weirdo just sniff me?'_ Ignoring Derek's question, Stiles continues his assessment. "You're the prisoner that escaped years ago. What are you still doing in Beacon Hills after five years?"

Derek lets go of Stiles harshly and moves back slightly. "You don't know anything, do you?" His face became less defensive and takes the stolen gun from the back of jeans to give back to its rightful owner.

No time is wasted as Stiles snatches his weapon to aim at the convict's chest. "Derek Hale, I am issuing you under arrest." Stiles declares.

Derek glances down with smug amusement and temperately nudges the weapon to the side away from his body with a finger, "Cute, but no thanks. Not into the handcuff scene."

Stiles positions his gun back to its original direction. "I could shoot, ya know." The smirking convict turns and walks to the door he entered from.

"Wait." Stiles called out, halting Derek's movement in front the ajar exit. "How did you get in here? I didn't hear a piano playing."

Derek lightly chuckles. "Since I wasn't blessed with the music gene that runs in my family, there was a latch installed in the bar under the floorboard." He resumes his stride out the door. "I'm afraid our little chat time is over." Derek stops once more when he passes Scott, turning his head to the unconscious survivor. "If his eyes turn gold then you're safe. But if they turn blue..." Derek pauses to face Stiles with a grim, serious look, "Do not hesitate to shoot him in the head or you'll end up just like what he becomes."

After Derek exits the room Stiles drops his stance to rush over to treat Scott. "Nothing is gonna happen." He tells himself more than his friend after injecting Scott with the dosage.

Soon after, gunshots are sounded off in quick succession, muffled through the reinforced ceiling. Stiles' head quickly turned to the open entry left behind by Derek Hale. Stiles' gaze returned to his friend's unmoving form, feeling unsure whether he should investigate or stay with the friend he was finally reunited with. Deaton was still missing and everyone else was on the east section of the mansion. Chances are high they wouldn't have heard the gunfire.

"I know, Scott, you don't have to say: 'Dumbass, are you really going to ignore someone possibly in need of help?'" Stiles considered that Derek Hale could have gotten himself shot, although with the reflexes Stiles had witnessed the possibility was strongly doubted. Strangely enough, Stiles didn't imagine Derek as a threat to anyone's safety, despite having his weapon stolen briefly, but the young officer wasn't sure anyone else would share his sentiment of a fugitive being cause of disregard.

Stiles did have orders to stay put, which should have ended his internal struggle of seeking out the disturbance. But Stiles also had a duty to his comrades to uphold. "Sorry to have to disobey, Jordan." He petted the hair of Scott. "Good to have you back, buddy. I know I sound like a hypocrite right now, but I'm ordering you to stay put until I return." Stiles scribbled his intentions to explore on the folder he found the picture and left it on top of Scott's chest.

As best as Stiles could tell, the sound that sought his attention came from above him. Stiles entered the main entryway, after securely locking the door to the secret medical supply chamber before checking the hidden latch revealed by the escaped convict. His unfamiliar knowledge of the mansion led him to backtrack to the main entrance and use the stairs from there.

"Jordan." Stiles huffed out with a crooked smile after seeing the post-it note the grand banister. _Head to the bar ASAP,_ stated the note with instructions on how to get there. Stiles couldn't believe how right Jordan was about not being too dependent on technology; these notes were now their only way of leaving breadcrumbs and communicating.

The officer's loud footsteps on the marble flooring transitioned to soft thumps as Stiles walked up the rug covered stairs. Halfway to the second story was a windowed door leading to a poorly lit courtyard. The top level wasn't as brightly illuminated as the first; the chandelier's low position radiated more light on the bottom than the second floor. The wall sconces beside the four doors, two on opposite sides of each other, made the soft mahogany flooring and dark brown walls an almost blood-like coloring.

The first door Stiles came upon to the left was locked from the other side. The second one, close to the front of the mansion where the pale white moon shined through the multi story window, opened as he turned the golden knob. He entered a sizeable outdoor balcony with trepidation, not having been outside since last escaping the human hungry wolves. The high trees overlapped the edges of the structure with its branches swaying to the wind's will, so reminiscent of his trek in the forest. At least the high altitude gave Stiles some solace that he wouldn't meet any more four legged fiends. He just had to worry about former cops turning into monsters and escaped convicts. Easy problems, right?

A pained grunt broke Stiles' slow course into the unknown area, a centered lamppost on the open platform kept the corners near the mansions exterior mildly cloaked in darkness.

"Hello?" Stiles called out, grip fastened on his gun. Another groan responded back, this time louder followed by a plea for help. "Deaton?" Stiles yelled in shock, briskly walking to the voice he recognized. He came upon the Alpha's second in command and chief medical officer, Alan Deaton. "Oh my God..." Stiles looked down to see Deaton's blood drenched hand holding onto his abdomen while sitting on the concrete ground. "Were you bit, too, Deaton?"

"Stiles...shot...not safe...trap." The wounded man struggled to convey his message through heavy labored breathing.

"You were shot? By who?" Stiles' inner process of elimination led him to Derek, but then saw Deaton still had his handgun clutched loosely on his person. Minor relief was felt for not being involved with Deaton's damage by letting Derek Hale go.

"Here, let me see how bad it is." Stiles' motion to move Deaton's hand out of the way to inspect the injury was aborted when a gun was held in his face. Stiles sat back on his haunches with his hands raised to show no harm was directed to the medical officer. "Hey, easy. Dude, I'm only trying to help." Stiles told Deaton in a calm tone.

The trigger was squeezed firing a single shot with a loud clunk shortly after as the discharged firearm fell to the pavement. It's owner's head fell back against the wall holding him upright.

"Fucking hell! What the-" Stiles, still alive, shakily squawked out as he patted himself down to check his condition and then looked at Deaton, who seemed worse for wear but his chest rising and falling. Stiles looked behind his own shoulder to discover a lone wolf lying completely motionless, gunshot entry in the skull. "Sonuva...bleeding out and you still managed a perfect shot."

Stiles slaps the medical officer a few times to wake him up. "Sorry. Really appreciate you saving my life and all but I'm gonna need you to help me once more to get you to the supply room." The young officer says as he shakes the unconscious older man.

Deaton reenters the waking world with Stiles' persistence and rejects the green herb treatment offered to him, informing Stiles the bullet is still lodged in.

After a string of curse words from Stiles' lips, the unharmed man uses himself as a crutch for Deaton to place his weight on as the two make their way to the only place Stiles feels remotely safe. The pair manages back with little trouble, other than a slight hitch on the staircase where Stiles miscalculated his next step and had another savior to thank that night in the form of a banister.

Stiles and Deaton gag while going through the dining room, the smell of Greenburg's burning corpse wafting into their nostrils. Stiles felt it would be appropriate to notify Deaton of Greenburg's disturbing demise once they reached the safe location and fixed up the good doctor.


	6. The warm light makes you relax

**A/N: It's been close to a year since I updated. Wow. Originally I had planned to finish this fic before the re-release but then I actually waited for it and then played it. Isn't funny how plans change... Why am I the only one laughing?**

 **I hope you enjoy.**  
 **Did I mention how sorry I am? Because I really am.**

Stiles didn't think it was possible but something had finally gone better than he expected that night. After an examination assisted by Stiles, Deaton came to the conclusion that any course of action to remove the bullet was unnecessary. The news was greatly appreciated by Stiles, bandaging wounds and applying some green herb ointment he could handle. But asking to him to extract a bullet from Deaton's abdomen without passing out was expecting too much from the young officer. Scott was the go to guy when another qualified medic was in need.

Deaton was in better shape after Stiles used the medical supplies surrounding them in the safe room. His breathing was more even and eyes more focused. It was fortunate that the medic officer was lucid enough to direct Stiles on which supplies would benefit the injured chief medical officer.

"Deaton, how're you doing? Kinda scared me back there for a sec." Stiles asked while he tidied up the bandaged area.

"All things considered… quite well, Stiles. It will at least make an interesting story when I go through airport security."

Stiles chuckled. "As if that isn't a long enough process without explaining why you're setting the alarm like Wolverine." Stiles knew Deaton wouldn't catch the reference but it made Stiles remember better times.

Rambling in the break room with Isaac and Scott about if they had the regeneration abilities of their favorite characters, how would they use it. Scott would never use a helmet on his dirt bike. Stiles would remove his organs and sell them on the black market repeatedly. Isaac went quiet during the exchange probably flashing back to darker times from his childhood when regen powers would have served him well against his abusive father. Stiles and Scott had known him during that time as sophomores in high school. Their tight bond was why Stiles was confident Isaac didn't leave them in this nightmare. The pilot would do everything he could to help which is why they had to find a way to contact him, or anyone.

"It looks like Scott is doing well too." Deaton observed Scott while he rested against the crates stacked against the wall. Unfortunately, the room was in a short, non-existent supply of comfortable seating.

The same couldn't be said for Greenburg, unfortunately. Stiles had wanted to tell Deaton but couldn't bring himself to dredge up the memories by recounting the incident. Stiles didn't even tell Scott about it, the young deputy couldn't imagine how he would tell Deaton.

"Sir… Deaton, do you remember saying something about a trap?" Those words had concerned Stiles to say the least. "Do you know who shot you?" The big question. Just when Stiles thought his biggest problem would be hungry wolves and raging teammates, both seeking to sink their teeth into the survivors, now came gun wielding maniacs.

The line of questioning visibly disturbed the previously fine chief medical officer.

"A man… dressed like us. It was too dark. Couldn't make out his face." Deaton paused his labored answer. His breathing became more haggard. Stiles tried to get the man to calm down but Deaton must have something of dire importance. "Greenburg. He… he-"

Greenburg couldn't have shot Deaton, the man was long dead before he heard the gunshots. Stiles' only option was to wait for Deaton to collect enough strength to continue.

"He had infor...mation we found." A long cough stopped Deaton from going forward. Stiles eased his worry seeing it was a dry cough. "This mansion isn't normal. Experiments. Keep yourself safe, Stiles. And Scott." Deaton released a loud breath and closed his eyes. Stiles rushed to check the chief medical officer's pulse.

Any secret that Greenburg held close was nothing more kindling for the fireplace in the dining room. Deaton's claim of one of them didn't make much sense since the remaining STARS members were on the opposite side of the mansion when Stiles heard the gunfire.

At least it wasn't Derek behind the shooting. The thought relieved the rookie.

Deaton is resting peacefully now to Stiles' great relief, it's probably best not to disturb him. Looking at Scott and Deaton sleeping, Stiles thought the safe room has officially been repurposed as the nap room. He shook his head at his dumb joke. Although they lost Greenburg, there was a sense of hope residing in the young deputy watching over his teammates. Maybe they could survive the horrors of this night. The sense of ease he felt inside the safe room under the soft light led to Stiles closing his eyes and drifting to sleep.

##

Stiles' rest and comfort came to an abrupt end when the sound of inhuman hissing penetrated through the door. Followed by scratching and scraping that had to be a product of sharp claws.

Snapping to attention, Stiles' mind began to race. More _things_ like Greenburg? But Greenburg was more wolf like, howling and snarling - fitting since he looked like a werewolf. Whatever awaiting on the other side of the door sounded reptilian. Hissing like a snake.

He tried to remain calm knowing they would be fine as long as his team remained inside the well protected safe room. Stiles, ever the curious one, placed his ear to the cool steel of the door for better hearing. The action produced no increase in volume. Fortunately, Stiles was in a room filled with medical equipment and with the aid of an obtained stethoscope he projected the vibrations through the door for clearer hearing. He steadied his heartbeat and slowed his breathing to cancel any interfering noises. The hissing and clawing were gone. And no movement could be heard. It almost sounded like…

A piano. Even without the stethoscope Stiles could hear the keys being played.

"Hello? Who's out there? Beacon County Sheriff's Department. Please identify yourself!" Stiles loudly announced on the chance there was a survivor out there. He was pretty sure those monsters weren't capable of performing tunes. There had to be another survivor out there. His inner musings vanished in a flash when he was answered with a violent slam against the door.

 _Shit._

Whatever the hell lurking out there knew how to get in. Stiles panicked briefly before looking at his unconscious team members. A wave of forced calm overrode his panic. Deaton and Scott's lives depended on him. And Erica needed the contents and security of this room to recover from her infection. Thinking fast, Stiles noticed how sluggish the piano was being played like the person, or thing, wasn't accustomed to the instrument. Stiles figured if he stayed quiet the threat out there would stay solely focused on the piano. Its back should be to the door while it played. If Stiles acted quickly enough, he could fire his clip into its back before the creature even registered the door being unlocked.

The heavy door was unlocked and opened as fast as Stiles could move. Before he could pull the trigger at the monstrous creature's back, a whip of its tail flung Stiles' gun to the other side of the room. Stiles didn't count the creature being on high alert to sense the officer's silent exit, or the tail that had a mind of its own. Now, the officer was facing down the creature that had abandoned the piano for the prey it sought.

The thing was pretty slick looking. The skin was dark, the pattern of its skin was of scales. The eyes were yellowish and slitted, staring almost like it recognized Stiles. It had a lot of teeth, not in the same way like Greenburg's fangs. Multiple rows of razor-sharp teeth Stiles saw in its gaping maw. And then there was the stupid tail that ruined his plan, it was long and acted like an extra limb.

Stiles thought nothing at that moment could compete against the frightening hiss the creature made while creeping toward him, toying with the defenseless officer, until a loud roar proved him wrong. Stiles and the creature set their sights on Derek, crouched on the piano with claws splayed out and gold eyes piercing in the modestly lit room. The fugitive flipped flawlessly in the air to land roughly on top of the monster. Stiles closed the door behind him and hightailed for his missing sidearm. The monster was pinned down on its back underneath Derek's mighty frame. But the creature has its trusty tail to whip at the werewolf above. Derek recovered with a nimble roll.

Stiles watched as the two stared each other down, both holding crouching defensive stances. Derek moved first tackling the monster down again on its back, keeping the creature limbs restrained with his arms and knees. Before the creature could strike again with its tail, Derek pulled the creature's arm to use its own razor claws to slash at the incoming tail attack. With the monster thrashing around in pain, Derek took advantage of the creature's unfocused state to snap its neck, effectively ending the previous thrashing.

"You can lower your weapon now."

Stiles looked down to see he had his gun pointed on fighters, regained during the battle. "Don't think because I didn't arrest you before that means we're on the same side." Going against Stiles threatening tone, he holstered his side arm. "You're like them but you aren't - why - how come you aren't like…" Stiles searched for the right way to convey his query. It was difficult after such a intense display.

"Mindlessly trying to kill you?" Derek finished for Stiles as he inspected the creature under him. "I'm different."

"Obviously."

Derek stood back up when he looked to be satisfied with the lifeless body underneath him. "They died. The virus mutated them into… whatever they are now. Zombies. Rabid werewolves. Monsters. Take your pick on the name but they're gone. They're not your friends and they can't be saved." Derek bluntly explained.

"Why haven't you turned?" Stiles needed answers, especially if they could save his friends.

"Because." Derek delivered unhelpfully.

"Because…" Stiles repeated hoping Derek would continue, which he didn't. "Care to expand on that?"

"No." Derek looked around the room uninterested with the surroundings and the conversation he was deftly avoiding.

It felt like Stiles had to pull teeth with this guy to get more answers.

"Dude, if we're gonna work to together I will at least need you to answer with more than one worded responses." Stiles felt ridiculous as soon as the words left his mouth. Working with an escaped convict?

Well, this wasn't exactly a normal rescue mission or situation, maybe normal rules shouldn't apply here. So Stiles decided it was best to cooperate with the criminal for now, pushing aside all police training and procedure.

"Q and A is officially over."

Stiles rolled his eyes. Like that was going to stop him. "Are there others like you with control?"

Silence was all Stiles received. With the way Derek acted, it was a wonder that the fugitive even saved Stiles from the lizard.

"Okay, how about your origin story. Why are you still in Beacon Hills?" Stiles continued digging.

"Is now really the time for a background check? If you're really dying to, I have much better ways of getting to know each other?" With the mischievous glint in Derek's eyes as his gaze roamed the officer's body, Stiles knew it was a way to get a rise out of him.

"Since that's a no," Derek chuckled at Stiles' blushing face. "Why don't we just cooperate and try to survive this night. Follow me and keep your mouth shut." Derek instructed. The fugitive seemed to forget the roles they both played. Criminals did not order around law enforcement.

"Wait, I can't just leave them behind. What if another one decides to come back to resume its recital?"

Derek huffed a breath. Stiles watched him move to the piano. With Derek's fist raised like he was wielding a mighty hammer, Derek slammed down his fist and smashed the piano into splintering wood. "You good now?"

"What about the lever? You plan on smashing the only way left in the room too?" Stiles asked sarcastically. He hoped Derek wasn't dumb enough to do it.

"My mother and I were the only ones who knew about the lever. It was our little secret." Derek clenched his jaw, a haunted look appeared on his face making him look a decade older than he was. He began walking and Stiles instinctively followed his lead.

That look on Derek's face. How did this guy end up on the run from the law?

Stiles' father always told him to trust his instincts. He may not have been with the department for long but he was raised as a Sheriff's kid his entire life. Stiles knew how to read people, knew the face of a criminal. He couldn't help thinking this guy wasn't one. Though Stiles' cynical side argued that Derek could be a really great actor, or a sociopath.

"Where are even going?" Stiles thinks belatedly that he began blindly following Derek without any discourse.

"My room." Derek smirks at Stiles' raised brow. "Don't worry, kid. Your virtue is safe."

Stiles snapped back that he was a highly trained officer, not some kid. Of course, the young officer kept to himself that he wasn't even legally allowed to drink yet. Stiles groaned internally thinking that Derek might be sort of right.


	7. we should regroup as soon as possible

Derek led the way upstairs on the west wing where Stiles wasn't able to access before. The wanted felon paused after he opened the door to his room. The pale lit room is filled with white sheets covering every surface, dust particles swarm around the streaks of white light creating a static aesthetic when gazing upon the bedroom. Outside the window was the balcony he found Deaton.

"Plan on stepping in this century?" Stiles goaded the fugitive who was frozen to the spot.

If Derek had been out here all this time for five years then why is stepping into his own room so much of a shock to the system, Stiles pondered as he observed the man.

Derek cleared his throat and walked slowly into the room after he clicked on the light switch. Stiles busied himself while Derek took his time moving throughout his bedroom, a lost look depicted on the fugitive. He seemed to need some time to process or reflect, so Stiles let him. With the dusty state of the room, Stiles changed his earlier assumption that Derek had been hiding here. Clearly no one stepped inside in quite some time.

Peeking under the sheets and rummaging around, Stiles found several things of interest. An acceptance letter to NYU sat on the desk by the window. A Beacon Hills High School jersey for the basketball team hung on the inside of the closet door. A picture of Derek smiling easily and holding a giant trophy surrounded by cheering teammates. Another picture with two girls, one older and the other younger, both squeezing Derek's torso in a hug and planting a kiss on his cheeks as he twisted his face in obvious fake disgust. The girls looked similar to Derek. _Sisters, maybe? Cousins?_ Stiles didn't know much about the Hales, except Peter Hale the co-owner of SilverWolf.

Nothing in here gave Stiles an inkling of a criminal lying under the surface of the normal appearing teen who lived here. He stared at the picture with the two girls. What the hell could have happened to Derek to change him from a bright, happy teen with a prosperous future to a wanted fugitive?

"If you're done rifling through my things, you mind coming over here?" Derek said in a clipped tone. Stiles had been so distracted that Derek's voice caused him to fumble the picture in hand before placing it back under the sheet and moving toward the fugitive by the bed.

No apologies were heading Derek's way. Stiles didn't have any qualms about violating the boundaries of an unknown criminal. Even if said criminal saved his life.

"What's that around your neck?" Stiles observed. All he could see was a leather necklace strap tucked under his shirt. The wife beater shirt Derek wore made it easy to spot the change.

"You're not good at the whole no questions thing are you?"

"Well, I'm an officer. So, no - it's my job to ask questions." Stiles shot back.

Derek pointed three walkie talkies laying on his bed. "These are walkie talkies specifically made for me and my sisters."

Stiles noted he was right about the family connection in the picture.

Derek explained further. "As you can see, this mansion is huge and there's even more ground to cover out in the courtyard. We used these to communicate wherever we were."

Stiles sighed. "Not to burst your bubble, Derek. But we've been trying to use satellite phones. Something is blocking any communication going in or out."

"Test, test. Idiot." Derek said slowly through the walkie talkies. The perfectly working walkie talkies. "Like I said, these were specifically made for us in this place." Derek pushed two of the three devices into Stiles' chest for him to take. "Maybe you can do something to talk the outside."

"I'm not sure. If our satellite phones didn't work, there's probably no chance…" Stiles paused his negative outlook. Derek was trying, Stiles could offer the guy some much needed hope. "Uh, but it's worth a try. At least we have a way to stay in touch." Stiles tucked one of the devices in the unused compartment of his belt.

"I should get back. You can wait with me in the storage room if you want." Stiles suggested.

Derek chuckled. "I think I'll take my chances out here than with a room full of cops."

"But you're helping me…" Stiles pointed out, questioning the contradiction in Derek's apprehension to join him.

"Yeah, one guy. Just call me if you find something, I still have things to do around here."

"Derek, I know you're not exactly Mr Rogers and all but it would be best if we stick together until help arrives." Stiles insisted.

"I'll be fine." Derek smirked. "But it's cute that you're worried."

Stiles huffed out a breath. "Not worried, it's my duty to protect and serve. Even someone like you."

"Then consider yourself relieved of duty, officer. Need me to make sure you get back safely?" There was no hint of humor in Derek's question.

"No, Derek, I don't need an escort." Stiles answered. The genuine concern for Stiles' wellbeing was a curveball. "But I could use an answer. Why did you come back to the safe room?"

"I heard this... buzzing sound." Derek expressed. The description of the noise didn't seem adequate enough for what Derek heard.

"Buzzing?" Stiles didn't recall anything like that.

"I knew it was coming from the safe room, and when I got closer I heard the creature." Derek finished and then gave a small salute to Stiles. "Catch you later, kid." Leaving no room for further questioning.

##

Stiles couldn't believe his eyes as he walked into the bar room where the safe room awaited. And this is after lizard-men and werewolves. But the surprises were not in short supply this night. Standing in front of him was none other than the main reason the STARS team was originally called out to investigate the area. The Mayor's son, Jackson Whittemore, was staring in disgust at the severed tail of the giant lizard, who was nowhere to be seen.

"Do you plan on staring the whole time or are you going to get me something to wear?" Jackson said shortly taking notice of Stiles' presence as well.

Stiles blinked owlishly, belatedly taking notice of Jackson's naked form. "W-we were sent to find you." He stripped off his shirt, wishing he kept his jacket on before he left the helicopter.

"Well, thanks for taking your time." Jackson said sarcastically.

##

Stiles took Jackson inside the safe room and found a disposable medical gown to cover the makeshift loincloth made from Stiles' uniform shirt.

"It isn't Armani but it'll do." Jackson said before sitting on the edge of the cot by Scott's feet.

"What's the last thing you remember?" Stiles went into interrogation mode. He hoped Jackson would be more forthcoming than Derek.

"I don't know… bits and pieces, mostly." Jackson squinted his eyes as he tried making sense of his shattered memories. "I remember hearing a weird noise in the woods. I told my girlfriend to wait at the campsite while I checked it out. Something pricked the back of my neck, a needle. Then my vision started to blur. I saw a man standing behind me and before I blacked out I yelled for her to run."

That corroborated with Lydia Martin's account. His girlfriend had seen a moving shadow after the warning to run. She was sure it wasn't Jackson and after his warning she didn't hear his voice again. Jackson looked haunted during his retelling of the events. Could it be a kidnapping? But there was no ransom or any demand of any kind.

Jackson went on with his story as Stiles listened closely. "Then after that I woke for a few seconds at a time. There were… tools, shiny and metal… the room was like that too. There were people staring at me with masks on. Someone didn't though. He didn't have a mask. And he was smiling at me… like he won something big." Jackson stared off not really looking at anything, absorbed by his recollection of the past. "I remember blood, so much. And a scream that didn't sound human. I-I… somehow I made here but it's all blurry." He shut his eyes closed and grabbed the sides of his head.

It sounded like Jackson was in some medical room. People with masks on - that had to have been doctors. And the tools had to have been surgical equipment. The fact that they were surrounded by medical supplies didn't escape Stiles' notice. Jackson seemed to be in good health, fractured memory aside. Did the same thing happen to Derek and his memory was just as bad as Jackson?

One theory that Stiles had was that the person trying to kidnap Jackson was thwarted in the woods and then Jackson was brought here, saved by the mansion's occupants. Of course if that was true then why did no one contact the sheriff's department in over a week?

Stiles shifted his gaze at Deaton, resting in the corner, and his brief mention of experiments. And Derek said the werewolves were the cause of a virus - it was the little Stiles could get from the wanted felon. Illegal experimentations, Stiles concluded.

"You could've been recovering from the drugs they injected you with. Must've been heavy duty if you can barely remember anything from the past two weeks."

"Two weeks, is that how long it's been?" Jackson looked up at Stiles with dread.

"Yeah, ten days to be specific. Lydia made it by the way."

"Good, good." Jackson nodded absently. Although Jackson relaxed at the news, he still seemed to be in shock from the big loss of time.

"You remember me? Stiles Stilinski. We went to high school together." Stiles distracted the despondent man.

"Sure, you and McCall never left each other's side or the bench in lacrosse." Jackson's mouth twitched upwards at the memory. "I can't believe they actually gave you losers a badge and a gun."

"Yeah, they did. You wanna see how it works?" Stiles said in a sarcastically nice tone. The name calling brought back memories he'd rather leave in the past. He calmed himself down, knowing it was beyond ridiculous to cling to that old mentality after all this time but it was a knee jerk reaction. It could be the same for Jackson, falling into old habits. One the plus side, it did briefly bring some normalcy to the nightmare they were in. If it made Jackson feel better then Stiles would be a punchline for the former classmate.

##

Safe room was starting to feel a bit crowded, Stiles mused as he sat on the floor checking the number of bullets from Deaton's pistol. It won't be any better once they bring back Erica and Boyd. Not that Stiles would complain. Being stuffed in sardine can was a sacrifice he would gladly make for their safe return.

A short beeping sound emitted from Stiles' belt. The radio given by Derek was receiving an incoming transmission. Stiles hadn't expected to hear from him so soon after they parted ways.

"Hey. You there, kid?" Derek's voice came through the walkie clearly.

Stiles rolled his eyes at the name. "I'm here."

"I found something here that might make you happy. We should regroup as soon as possible." Derek relayed his location for a meet up.

Apparently Beta team hadn't inspected the main hall thoroughly when they first arrived. Derek had found a basement hidden behind a large oil painting. First a bookshelf disguising the passage to a safe room and now an underground passage cloaked behind a painting. The more Stiles learned about this mansion, the more anxious he was to uncover the truth behind everything.

Jackson perked up. "Thank God, is that more help? Because if you and two unconscious officers are my only rescue then-"

"Just rest for now, Jackson." Stiles said patiently. "I'll be right back. I know this gonna sound weird but-"

"After all of this, I highly doubt it." Jackson inserted.

"True." Stiles licked his lips nervously before continuing. "Listen carefully. If Scott wakes up and his eyes are… blue. Do not hesitate, you put a bullet in his head immediately." He didn't want to have to say that but he couldn't leave Jackson defenseless in a worst case scenario.

"Fuck." Jackson stared at Scott in shock and then at gun Stiles placed in his lap after being given the instructions.

"Hopefully you won't have to but do you know how to use a gun?"

"Yeah." Jackson sounded small, almost broken.

Stiles couldn't blame him after everything he's been through. He left the safe room promising Jackson he would find help and return him home safely.


	8. a memo to security

Derek and Stiles carefully descend down the darkened path of the stairs hidden behind the oil painting. Stiles wonders how many things around the mansion double as concealed doors - first, a bookshelf then a large wall-sprawling painting.

The painting itself is an eerie depiction of a large wolf being impaled with a silver spear by a cloaked woman, the beast's blood spilling over the snowy ground under the full moon. It seems fitting that the violent painting was found behind the main hall staircase, out of sight from entering guests.

 _How did Derek know to look behind a painting? How much is he really holding back?_ There is so much information Stiles is missing to be able to form a complete picture. Every theory he conjures up feels half-formed.

As they trek down into the depths of the mansion, Stiles' night vision goggles and Derek's keen werewolf senses allow them to see what dangers may lurk below. The unlikely pair find themselves at the end of the short hall. They find a metallic wall at the dead end with several dents and contrasts with the concrete hallway. Stiles smooths his fingers over one of the dents then after a hunch he repeats the action with his knuckles. It's a good fit for someone's fists.

"How strong are you?" Stiles doesn't have to guess that Derek is the cause behind the dents.

"Not strong enough to get through the door apparently." Derek answers. Stiles can hear the frown on Derek's face without looking.

So, it is a door Derek is trying to get pass.

"For either doors." Derek continues then draws Stiles' attention to the other metallic door on the side. It isn't as expansive as the sealed metal door at the dead end. And there's a card reader that has been ripped off, lying broken on the floor. No doubt a result of Derek trying to gain entry.

Luckily, a small air vent Stiles can fit is perched above. With the wide expanse of Derek's shoulders, the werewolf definitely won't be able to get inside. Obviously Derek had drawn the same conclusion, which is why he asked Stiles to come.

The young officer chews on his bottom lip as he looks up at the alternate route.

"Stop worrying. I can hear, nothing's going on in there. Nothing alive at least." Derek attempts to alleviate Stiles' visible concern. "Here, let me help you up." He reaches out to give Stiles a boost but the officer flinches back at Derek's heated touch on his upper arm. Stiles adds high body temperature to Derek's list of supernatural abilities.

"I barely touched you." Derek says with annoyance at the officer's reaction.

"It's not you. It's pretty chilly down here and your hand is all toasty. Didn't expect it." Stiles shivers in his plain, thin white t-shirt. The officer secures his footing in the fugitive's cupped hands. As he climbs Derek like a stepping ladder, Stiles accidentally steps on Derek's face during his ascent to the vent.

"Get your scrawny ass up there already!" Derek exclaims, pushing the officer up with force into the opening.

When Stiles reaches the end of the tunnel, he drops down safely with the aid of a locker that halves height from the high vent to the low floor. The officer peers around the dark room, with the aid of his night vision, hoping to find anything useful. His vision reaches the far back of the small room. He jolts back with a shuddering breath.

A male body, pale in the face, hangs from a noose around his neck. Stiles' eyes land on a note tucked out the pocket, the white paper contrasting brightly against the dark uniform of the body. The night vision makes it hard to read but luckily there is a flashlight on the dead man's utility belt. He looks to be a security guard. _Securing what though?_ Shedding off the goggles, Stiles proceeds to immediately read the handwritten note using the newly acquired flashlight.

 _ **Maybe this is my punishment for ignoring everything that happened here. It was easy at first to ignore the stream of prisoners heading to some untold fate. They deserved it, I thought. Life without no parole. These guys were the scum of the earth. But then these bastards began snatching up random people who were exploring the mountain area. They may have even kidnapped a few people who would have posed a threat to them. I should have said something, done something, the first time I saw the two lost hikers escorted through these damn doors. But I was afraid. If only I had known how my fate would've ended like this then maybe - God forgive me. There's no chance for me now on my own with every damn monster on the loose. What the hell were these fucking scientists thinking?!**_

 _ **I'm so sorry. Forgive me.**_

"Shit…" Stiles whispers to himself. There is something else on the back. Unlike the suicide note, it's typed.

 _ **A memo to security,**_

 _ **As of late because of the warm weather civilians will sometimes wander on the estate property while exploring on camping trips. If this should happen, arrest them and then transfer them to the laboratory as new guinea pigs. You will be rewarded.**_

Stiles pockets the letter to show his team.

 _Life without the possibility of parole?_ Stiles doesn't want to think what Derek did to gain that exclusive membership. But whatever it was, it had to have been bad. He knows he shouldn't have sympathy for Derek but if Jackson's account was true then Derek was most likely experimented on, perhaps tortured, for the years he went missing. But maybe the security guard was right. Maybe Derek deserved it…

Somehow Stiles and his team had entered an insane world brimming with dark secrets.

How had all of this been going on right in their backyard?

All of those missing reports the STARS team weren't given the resources and permission to investigate - had that been a conspiracy to cover up the secret of this estate? The Silver/Wolf corporation certainly had the money to bribe city officials. How many people did they have in their back pocket? Who could Stiles trust? Maybe Deaton's panicked ramble about a traitor was more lucid than Stiles had thought.

Stiles sets his paranoid thoughts aside to go back to the immediate matter at hand. His continued investigation leads to discovering the large console behind the hanged man. The equipment appears to be used for broadcasting. Stiles experimentally presses various buttons on the computer hoping to elicit some reaction.

Nothing happens. However, he does notice the machine is warm to the touch, which shouldn't be since Stiles could tell the guard had died a while ago.

Someone else used these machines very recently.

 _Are there more survivors in this mansion?_

A power regulator is mounted on the wall beside the console. Stiles crosses his fingers and silently prays the power will restore. With a switch of the small lever, the lights above flicker to life and soon after the monitor glows brightly.

A morbid voice inside Stiles' mind tells him to look back to the security guard. With better visibility, the guard looks to be no older than Stiles. Some young guy who chose to continue his cowardice by taking his own life. He gave up but Stiles will not.

Static noise interrupts the dreadful silence in the room.

"This is the Beacon County Sheriff's Department. If anyone is out there please give me a sign." A crackling transmission comes through the broadcasting equipment.

 _It's Isaac!_

Stiles grins broadly. He knew Isaac wouldn't leave them behind. "Hello! Isaac!" He yells at the console as he searches frantically for a button to respond back. _Every button looks the same! Why isn't anything labeled?!_

"Can anyone read me? Please respond." Isaac continues to search for possible survivors.

Stiles notices a button faintly colored green standing apart from its black counterparts. The green color most likely faded after continued usage.

"Hello! We're alive, Isaac!"

"Stiles? Thank God!"

Stiles fist pumps in success. "Send -" The young officer is plunged back into a room of darkness. "...help." He pitifully ends his cutoff reply.

The equipment and lights died out. Apparently only a small amount of power was left.

 _Shit._

Stiles tells himself that at least Isaac knows they're alive and the pilot did know this mansion was the planned destination before any hopelessness settles in. It's something.

There wasn't much else inside the room. No power to open the door for Derek which sucked because there is a locker inside that Stiles can't open. He was no master of unlocking. If Derek was here he could use those claws or enhanced strength to open that locker with no problem. Stiles did find some extra ammo on the security guard, suitable for his handgun. Odd how there wasn't a weapon to go with it.

When Stiles exits - the wrong way with his head first - out of the ventilation shaft, Derek is there with extended arms to catch Stiles when he - ungracefully - drops down.

The young officer steps out of the warm hold Derek had around his torso. Going back to cold draft of the basement briefly makes Stiles miss the fugitive's body heat. "Guess you heard what happened?"

Derek grunts as an answer. Stiles sighs.

"I recognized that power regulator in there. We just need a new battery and the broadcasting equipment would be up and running again. Probably why that guy in there gave up."

Unfortunately, even with the power out of commission in there that didn't unlock the door. Whatever is beyond that large metallic door is one secret they made sure to keep under lock and key.

"What guy?" Derek prods. If there had been anything at all alive or moving in the room, Derek's super hearing would have picked up on it.

"Uh, yeah…" Stiles hands Derek the suicide note. Then takes the opportunity to study Derek's face as he reads for some kind of reaction. "Doesn't look like you were the first inmate to stay here." The officer instigates.

Derek stares blankly at the officer, aware of where Stiles was heading. He shoves the letter back into Stiles' chest. "There might be a battery out back in the courtyard."

The fugitive tries to deflect but Stiles doesn't give up.

"You know, I found the Mayor's son. He had a story about being abducted that I'm guessing is similar to how you ended up here. Problem is he's got some memory blanks that I was hoping you could fill in."

"I promised to help find a way to escape. That help does not extend to your desire to investigate this place."

Stiles throws his hands up at the sheer stubbornness in front of him."God, Derek! I hope you understand what I'm doing here. I am trying to give you the benefit of doubt. I'm a freakin' officer of the law coming at the beck and call of a wanted felon. And on my first official mission!" Stiles lowers his voice as he realizes his actions. "When Parrish finds out and Coach too…" He steadies a soft gaze at Derek, trying to get through to the fugitive. "I could be saying goodbye to my career if I actually live through this. I need you to help me out… just tell me what happened."

"It's in the past, there's no use dwelling on it. I will look for the battery. You don't want to leave your team alone and defenseless - do you?" Derek makes a good point.

Stiles has a duty to protect his people now that they are most vulnerable. "This isn't over, Derek. You'll have to talk to me eventually." He walks past Derek heading back to safe room.

"Stiles." Derek calls out.

As soon as he turns, Stiles is fighting off something thrown on his face completely obscuring his vision. A bag? A sack? Was he being kidnapped? After an epic fight, flailing wildly around, to rid himself of the blinding object, he discovers what it is.

"It's a… leather jacket?" He looks up from the outerwear to Derek's amused face that is trying to suppress a laugh at Stiles' antics. He has some nerve to try to laugh at Stiles. The young officer is dealing with all sorts of monsters. Excuse him from being a bit on edge.

"It was from my closet. Don't need it, I'm not the same kid who wore that." Derek shrugs.

Stiles knows Derek meant his expanded body size but there is a double meaning behind those words.

The black jacket fits perfectly once the young officer puts it on. "Thanks."

Derek nods. His head jerks up suddenly. "I think I heard that noise again."

"Noise?"

"The buzzing," referring to the giant man-lizard he killed. "We're too far down for me to be sure where it's coming from."

Stiles whips out the walkie talkie to reach Jackson just to be sure he's alright. "Shit." The battery died in the walkie radio.

Great, another useless communication device.

Before Stiles can sulk about the continued string of bad luck, Derek takes the walkie and uses the winding feature embedded at the bottom to charge the battery. He extends a secluded rod and cranks it then the device is back in effect.

"Nice, man. Thanks."

"Glad to be of service."

Stiles tries again to reach Jackson but there's no answer. He curses. It could be that the other walkie's battery has died too, he tells himself.

"I'll come with you, just in case there's another lizard creature out there." Derek moves forward to lead the way back to the safe room.

Stiles stops him with a hand on Derek's shoulder. "No, try to find the battery. If our pilot is still out there, we'll need his help ASAP. I can handle myself, I'm tougher than I look."

Derek doesn't look too sure about leaving Stiles on his own and is ready to protest.

"My team might be back by now." Stiles isn't sure whether that is supposed to be a warning for the convict or a way to ease Derek's apparent worry.

However Derek interprets it, the fugitive takes off after telling Stiles to call if anything happens and he'll be there in a flash.

Stiles hopes that it won't be necessary.


	9. fear can't kill you, but

**A/N: Sorry about this in advance. (つ﹏⊂** **)**

On his way back through the dining hall, the smell of burnt flesh remained in the air but somehow Stiles manages to keep his insides from churning. The fire had finally died leaving the full moon to shine through the multi story windows illuminating the room. He walks closer to the fireplace and looks at the charred officer. Greenburg - the only person left for Stiles to get some info from. Derek was no help, Jackson couldn't remember anything, and Deaton was resting. Somewhere on Greenburg's body was some kind of evidence Deaton had mentioned, now lost.

Something glowing in the corner of his eye immediately acquired Stiles' attention. He finds the evidence - a chrome USB drive Greenburg must have had on him, tossed aside from the struggle against the feral officer. It was under the dinner table where he found Parrish's gun. At least something might give him some answers. As soon as they return power to the console Stiles could read what is on the drive. Things were starting to turn around.

Stiles' optimism was snuffed out upon entering the room leading to the safe room. A shiver shoots down Stiles' spine. The bookcase door was ajar and the light inside flickered hauntingly.

He strangles back a sob at the sight. The room is wrecked. Boxes and crates toppled over. The walls were speckled and splattered with blood looking like some disturbing abstract painting. And at the epicenter of the wreckage is Deaton's lifeless body. His torso shredded with what looks like five slash marks. Five for each finger… for each claw. There was no sign of Scott or Jackson. The only possibility was that Scott had turned and killed Deaton. Jackson must have gotten away but with the way those monsters moved Stiles didn't have any hope that Scott didn't hunt him down.

The young officer had told Jackson to shoot Scott if he turned… Maybe it was asking too much of a civilian to execute a person.

Stiles drops onto the empty cot where Scott was resting, feeling hopelessness drown his being. He huddles the borrowed leather jacket tighter to his body, using it as an ineffective security blanket. The young officer wishes he had taken Derek's offer to follow him.

There was no way he could survive this. Not with strange, manic creatures littering every inch of this estate. Friends dropping one by one or going completely missing. What chance did he have to survive this? How would he ever make it back home? And if he doesn't, his dad will come searching for him the same way Stiles did for Scott. Only in his father's case, no one will be around to find. No one alive at least. His father would fall prey to the same trap Stiles did, realizing too late what happened to his son when the Sheriff is either mauled by decaying wolves, slashed by a mutant lizard, or God forbid bitten by his own kid - his kid that was turned by the people that he used to train with, share lunches with, and laughed with.

Of course now would be the time a busted pipe would begin dripping on Stiles' face. He wipes the warm moisture away. Looking up he expected to see the source of the water, already feeling more drops falling down his cheek, but no such luck. He quickly realizes the source of the drops of water falling down his cheeks were tears he hadn't realized he was shedding. Sniffling his running nose, he glanced around for something to wipe the continuing falling tears. But around him all he could see was a place he desperately wanted leave. A nightmare he couldn't wake up from.

Stiles would give anything to be home right now. Not his little apartment in downtown Beacon Hills. He wants to be in his childhood home. With his dad and Parrish in the backyard grilling for his co-workers, everyone chowing down on food and not each other. To wake up from a nap in the living room recliner seeing Scott, Erica, and Isaac playing some old video games he pulled out from his room as they wait for the food. And to hear Boyd reasoning with Coach not fire Greenburg because of another accident in the squad car.

Stiles feels woozy as he comes out of his fantasy, feeling his breath quickening, heart pounding violently against his chest, and his vision darkening at the edges. He was having a panic attack and about to lose consciousness and he couldn't get control of it.

Are the faint sounds of footsteps Stiles can hear approaching through his panic attack those of his rescue or his end?


End file.
